A Very Covid Xmas.

Staying in is the new going out. That's what they've been saying for years now but it's never been more true than it has since March 2020 and the beginning of this seemingly endless pandemic. But even in the peak of the pandemic I got out for my allowed hour, or sometimes not even that, walk each day.

I'm not a fan of staying in. Staying in is not my idea of fun. I go a bit stir crazy. I don't have a garden so I miss the fresh air and I miss seeing other people - even if they're only walking past me. But if I was to be forced to stay in I would definitely choose to be forced to stay in during winter rather than summer. 

Christmas or not. So when, last Tuesday, I started to develop a tickly cough when visiting the National Gallery to look at a Poussin exhibition I feared the worst immediately. I'd managed to avoid catching Covid for over nineteen months of the pandemic but this cough, which was soon followed by a sore throat, a headache, a runny nose, and tiredness, seemed to fit the description of Covid a little too well.

Specifically the new omicron variant that is rife in London and starting to infiltrate new territories in our woefully governed and divided nation. So instead of going for a pint and taking in the Icelandic film Lamb as I'd planned I got on the train, went home, got in bed, and fell asleep.

Later that evening, when I woke up, the coughing had become raspier and more regular so the next day I walked down to the Lewisham Lorry Park in Catford (incidentally on Canadian Avenue, the road my friend Bugsy's dad grew up on) and got myself a PCR test. I had used my last lateral flow test kit and nearby chemists had signs in the windows explaining they had none and were not expecting any any time soon.

Supply chain issues caused by the government and their careless Brexit or panic buying caused by the government and their appalling handling of the pandemic, who knows? As I walked to Catford and back (a two hour round trip but I couldn't go on the bus and didn't fancy cycling) I started to feel much better and convinced myself it was probably just a cold.

When I got back home, out of that fresh air, the symptoms came back quickly and surely enough the next day it was confirmed that I did, indeed, have a positive case of Covid. I'd not been out much and I'd worn masks everywhere I had to but this omicron (if it is that, I can't be certain) is very transmissible as we can all see by the record breaking number of cases each day. Yesterday, the UK topped 100,000 positive cases in one day for the first time in the whole pandemic.

I did host a Xmas dinner for a group of friends in Brixton Saturday last (and I have since discovered that Lambeth, Brixton specifically, is the epicentre of the omicron outbreak) but, thankfully, not one other friend in attendance at that event has caught Covid as a result of that. So I'm not sure if I picked it up there, on the bus home that night, or somewhere else completely. I'm just glad my friends are okay.

Most people who catch Covid will never know where they caught it and, mostly, it doesn't matter. Luckily for me, and I write this with cautious optimism and the knowledge that I may soon be proved wrong, omicron seems to be a milder variant than previous ones. Either that or the fact that I have been treble jabbed (I got my booster in two weeks ago today at the Tessa Jowell Health Centre in East Dulwich) means my symptoms, though grotty, have not been particularly debilitating.

I'd taken a couple of days (Friday and Monday) off work anyway (with the idea of attending art exhibitions) but my boss kindly allowed me to convert those to sick days. I also had to cancel plans to attend my works Xmas dinner at ASK in Basingstoke and to meet with my parents the next day for a Xmas meal at The Spruce Goose pub, also in Basingstoke.

I won't be seeing them, or any family, over Xmas so I was looking forward to that as I was the calzone I'd ordered for my dinner at ASK and the company I'd have spent the evening with. The booze too, to be honest.

As the week carried on the symptoms took turns. It started with a cough (a title Hot Chocolate firmly rejected for one of their biggest hits) but the headache that came next was the most painful. Not least combined with constant coughing which created the effect of feeling like my skull was rattling. Thankfully, ibuprofen, in the form of my favoured brand - Nurofen Express, not only mitigated against the worst of it but pretty much got rid of it completely.

The runny nose never got too bad, the sore throat threatened but never really developed into anything that Strepsils couldn't deal with, and the tiredness was a bit annoying at first but soon developed into something almost serene. I could just lie on my bed, or sofa, and drift off into a world of fantastic fevered dreams. 

I had a dream about boxing last night. I'm not a fan of boxing but in my dream I loathed it with a passion and couldn't understand why I'd decided to sign up to fight a professional boxer. The other symptom, and people don't seem to talk about this one, I've enjoyed is having the shits.

Not to the degree that I am likely to shit myself in public (and not just because I'm not going out in public). But just needing to go more often. In the last ten days I've performed more 'movements' than a touring classical orchestra.

Sunday was the first day that things really started to pick up and on Monday I even ordered an Indian takeaway from Babur. I had dal makhni, pulao rice, chapati, onion bhajis, and an Alphonso mango lassi (who is Alphonso?) and it was delicious. I was excited enough just to be able to taste it. Even though my sense of taste never completely left me food, until that point, just tasted a bit weird, a bit different.

I went back to work, I watched The Manchurian Canidate, All The President's Men, my favourite quiz shows (University Challenge, Only Connect, and Mastermind) and lots and lots of news. My Dad did a Kahoot quiz for his friends and I managed to win that which proved to me that my neither my brain nor my reflexes had been affected by the Covid.

I listened to a lot of music (Late Junction, Huey, Craig Charles Funk and Soul Show, Out of Limits, and the Freak Zone as well as ploughing through some selections of Seun Kuti's Baker's Dozen from theQuietus and investigating the Kronos Quartet and their collaborators) and I received loads of lovely messages from friends and acquaintances on Facebook and WhatsApp.

I was also cheered up immensely by the North Shropshire by election result! Best of all, were the calls I received from Adam, Shep, Michelle (and Evie, very excited to have a wobbly tooth and awaiting a pound coin from the tooth fairy), Mum and Dad, Simon, and Ben. I received some lovely Xmas cards and even got Strepsils and Nurofen through the post (thanks mum) as well as a couple of lateral flow test kits.

Best of all (even better than getting Co-Op to deliver me San Miguel at 9am on a Monday morning - I didn't drink it until twelve hours later) was Michelle's wonderful 'care package' of Snowdonia cheeses. There was Green Thunder (Cheddar cheese with roasted garlic & herbs), Red Devil (Red Leicester with habanero chilli and peppers), and Black Bomber (extra mature Chedder). They came with two choices of chutney (balsamic onion and fig and apple) and some fancy savoury wafers.

I've just started on them and they're bloody lovely. Such a lovely gift and such a touching thought. I'm saving some for Christmas Day as, for the second year running - and the second year ever, I'll be spending that day alone. I'd rather be somewhere hot and sunny but it won't be too bad now I can get out for a walk - even if rain is forecast.

In fact, as from tomorrow, I am 'free'. I'm allowed out again. A couple of days back, they changed the rules so that with two negative lateral flow tests twenty-four hours apart you can end your isolation after just seven days (thanks to Doreen, Kathy, Cheryl, and Rob for all giving me the heads up on that. That rule came in a little too late to make much difference for me but, truth be told, this isolation has not been as bad as I feared.

I'm one of the lucky ones. I didn't get particularly ill. I didn't die (like over five million people worldwide have done already of this bloody thing) and everyone was really nice and kept my spirits up. I even caught up on some sleep and saved some money.

Having said that though, I am really looking forward to going out and getting some fresh air tomorrow. I'll probably just go for a walk (I can't rule out stopping for a pint but a solo drink on Xmas Eve may be a bit bleak) and then, with antibodies as my friend, I'll be free to hopefully do some social stuff over the next week or so. That's if we're not forced into another lockdown but having done fifty days without seeing anyone at the start of 2020 and even longer at the start of 2021 this ten day period has flown by.

All being well, Xmas will pass off pleasantly and quietly and for New Year I'm hoping to be up in Wales. I'll enjoy it all even more for having this little brush with Covid. Once again, thanks to everyone for being so bloody lovely. Have a great Xmas and let's hope 2022 is, finally, an improvement.